


Adapting

by bitterfloof



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Disability, Gen, Self Confidence Issues, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 20:24:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterfloof/pseuds/bitterfloof
Summary: Books were good, but the internet was an exhaustive archive of different signs and fingerspelling and everything he needed to know. His hearing aids helped, but only in amplifying what little he had left of his hearing (which really was not a lot, maybe every two words he could hear), but with sign language, he had a new way of communicating.He finally felt like he had a voice again.





	Adapting

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't particularly correlate with any canon material - the closest I can say is Fraction/Aja series but doesn't really connect to 'Rio Bravo' so yeah . . .
> 
> Clint Barton Bingo fill  
> Square: N5 - Sign Language

 

The deaf thing takes some time to adjust to - Clint knew it wouldn't happen overnight but he can't help but be a little frustrated about it all. Almost as though a vital organ has been ripped out of him, one second he has his hearing and then it was gone.

And it was not coming back.

But it wasn't even the deafness that was an issue - well it was, seeing people talk but not quite fully understanding (if he understood at all) was frustrating - it was what came with the deafness. Sign language.

It wasn't that he couldn't talk, it was that he couldn't hear himself talk - at least not particularly well. He could feel his jaw moving and the vibrations - but not know whether what was said was correct or pronounced right or how loud or quiet he was talking. It was like he was living in a box that he couldn't escape from and nobody else could get in - cut off from the rest of society all of a sudden. Not quite shunned, but it certainly felt that way. So to say that Clint was a little . . . depressed about the whole situation might have been a bit of an understatement. Okay, depressed may have been one way to say it, the other was having difficulty adjusting to it.

Legally disabled. God how it sounded weighty and important - concepts Clint would never think to associate with himself. He was an average guy, sure he knew the Avengers - that was pretty cool - but, really. He wasn't anything special. And now, he was even less than special - damaged. Yeah, so maybe he was a little depressed. It wasn't an easy thing to admit, he usually bounced through life, not so happy-go-lucky, but he got by with snark and sarcasm. But now he couldn't even hear that.

Great.

So, he took to hiding away in his apartment for the most part - only venturing out when it was absolutely necessary and even then it was usually to shops that had self-checkouts just to avoid people. It was getting sort of ridiculous the level that even Clint himself knew something had to give - but it was so hard. It was much easier to wallow in his own self-pity (and he was not, generally, a self-pitying person), but even that got tiresome after a while.

He knew sign language existed - it just wasn't a top priority before. He didn't really have a reason to look into it before, but now he did.

So that's exactly what he did (goodbye pity-party, ain't nobody got time for that) Clint threw himself headfirst into learning sign language. Books were good, but the internet was an exhaustive archive of different signs and fingerspelling and everything he needed to know. His hearing aids helped, but only in amplifying what little he had left of his hearing (which really was not a lot, maybe every two words he could hear), but with sign language, he had a new way of communicating.

He finally felt like he had a voice again.

 

* * *

 

The one issue with Clint dropping off the map in his attempt to start learning sign language - was that he forgot to tell anybody. Sure, he answered the odd message here and there from anybody who texted him, but they were short and clipped responses with no extended conversations. His mind was just elsewhere and socialisation just wasn't at the forefront of his head.

The first thing Clint learnt was how to fingerspell his name, it was easy enough to do. Just like studying in school he just did it over and over again until it became second nature to him, in a few days he could do it mostly fluidly, C-L-I-N-T-B-A-R-T-O-N, one hand sign to the next quickly but not too much so that it all became jumbled together.

After fingerspelling, came functional signs. Basic everyday things that would be worth teaching to other people just so they knew what they meant. It wasn't especially difficult, just a little tedious - everything was very precise. One wrong position and the phrase he meant could turn into something else entirely - but he took it one at a time. Slowly but surely building up a little repertoire of phrases.

It was only when Phil came busting into the place was Clint knocked out of his frenzy.

Okay, busting in was an exaggeration - more like, Phil politely knocked Clint out of his frenzy.

Clint hadn't really realised how long it had been since he had contacted anybody, Phil's concerned/slightly annoyed look just reminded him that there were still people out there (Phil particularly) who cared about his state of being, especially when Clint got super stuck in his own head - and over the time of slowly self-teaching himself sign language was definitely one of those times.

"I know it has been difficult adjusting," Phil spoke slowly, as clearly as possible. Clint's lip reading wasn't amazing, but he could understand well enough with the help of his hearing aids. "But hiding away is not going to do yourself any good."

Clint nodded. He took a deep breath. "I want to show you something," it came out slightly shaky.

"What?"

Pausing for a moment, Clint raised his hands. They were shaking slightly, it was different doing this in the silence and loneliness of his own home, where his fumbles were unseen.

"I . . . will . . . be . . . okay."

It wasn't perfect, the signs were a little off mostly attributed to nerves - but from the look on Phil's face, it didn't need to be perfect to get the message across.

He was going to be okay. He could get by.

**Author's Note:**

> My head is up my arse when it comes to writing for Clint, I need practise.
> 
> Stalk me on Tumblr: bitterfloof.tumblr.com


End file.
